Just then, Nolan stepped into La Bella Noire.
He paused for a moment at the entrance, scanning the elegant rooftop like a man on a mission. His sharp brown eyes moved from table to table, slowly… carefully… as if searching for someone important. He was searching for his wife. At the far end, Hilda spotted him first. She smirked and whispered under her breath, “Well, well... the average Joe is here.” The other women turned quickly. Even Evelyn. And for the first time in her life… she felt ashamed of him. She wished she didn’t know him. She wished he would turn around and disappear. But he didn’t. Nolan’s eyes found her. And almost immediately, his face lit up with a soft smile. Without hesitation, he started walking toward their table. “Oh, the average Joe is coming,” Freda said mockingly, lifting her glass. “Everyone be on your guard.” The women laughed quietly—but then, like a strange magic passed over them, they all adjusted their posture. Their backs straightened. Their faces tightened. No more giggles. No more ease. It was like they all put on invisible armor. Nolan reached the table and gave a polite smile. “Good evening, ladies,” he said gently. “Evening,” Hilda replied, her voice was cold and flat, her eyes not even meeting his. “Welcome,” Freda added with a fake grin. “The great Nolan himself.” Clarissa only raised a brow and sipped her champagne. Nolan ignored the tone. He turned to Evelyn. “Hey, babe.” He leaned in, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and kissed her softly on the cheek. Evelyn flinched just a little. It was small… but the others noticed. Still, Nolan smiled. “Can we go outside?” he asked. “I have something for you.” Evelyn turned to look at him fully now. Her voice came out sharper than she intended. “How did you find me here?” “Come on, Evelyn,” Nolan said with a soft smile. “You’ll love the surprise I have for you.” Evelyn turned to him sharply, her eyes were burning. “Nolan, why are you here?” she snapped. “You weren’t invited. I’m out with my friends, and you’re ruining it!” Her voice was loud. Loud enough that several people at nearby tables turned to look. A few heads tilted in curiosity. A few others whispered. Nolan felt a chill run down his spine. His skin tightened. Goosebumps crawled across his arms. Embarrassment. Big, heavy embarrassment. But still… he didn’t flinch. He stood his ground. “Well… it seems you’re still mad,” he said quietly. “But I understand that. However…” He paused, then brought his fingers to his lips—and whistled. Loud and sharp. Immediately, the doors of La Bella Noire opened once again. And in came a jazz band—fully dressed in traditional French outfits. Berets. Red scarves. White shirts. Black trousers. They walked in with smooth steps, instruments in hand. Without delay, they began to play a soft, romantic tune. The melody floated like sweet perfume. Then, the dancers came in—male and female ballet performers in flowing costumes. They twirled and moved gracefully. The male dancer kept reaching out for the female dancer… kneeling… stretching his hand… showing how sorry he was. The female dancer, at first, turned her back… but slowly, beautifully, she began to respond to his moves. Her eyes softened. She danced toward him. They touched hands. The performance was so touching that the entire restaurant went quiet. Phones came out. Customers began to record the scene, with smiles all over their faces. A few ladies placed their hands on their chest. “Awwww…” “This is so sweet…” Then, another man stepped forward. He was dressed neatly in a black tuxedo. In his hands was a cake—beautifully decorated with pink and white cream. He walked to Nolan and handed him the cake. On the cake, the words were written clearly: PLEASE FORGIVE ME Nolan turned to Evelyn again. “I know what I said two days ago at your Apex Ascendency Gala was out of place,” he began slowly. “And I know I went too far. I said things I should never have said. Things that hurt you.” He held the cake gently, his eyes were calm. “You are a smart… strong… beautiful woman. You’re everything I’ve ever needed in a woman. And yes… maybe emotions made you do some things too. But I forgive you for those… and I ask that you forgive me too.” His voice was sincere. His eyes didn’t blink. Evelyn sat still. Her mouth was slightly open. Her heartbeat faster than before. She looked around. Many of the female customers—especially those in their forties and fifties—were wiping small tears from their eyes. “So cute…” one of them said. “If my husband did this, I would forgive him in one second…” Another said. Evelyn looked at the cake. Then at the dancers. Then at Nolan. Then slowly… she turned to her friends. Her eyes asked the question silently: Should I forgive him?
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Hilda slowly shook her head.Her expression was sharp. Cold. Unforgiving.Freda and Clarissa saw it… and shook their heads in similar fashion.Their faces showed it all—they didn’t buy Nolan’s show. Not one bit.Evelyn saw their reactions.She turned back to Nolan with a strange look in her eyes. She stood up to her feet, brushed her gown lightly, and gave him a slow shake of the head.“No, Nolan,” she said coldly. “Not here. Not like this.”She walked past him.The music faded. The dancers paused. Even the jazz band started playing more slowly, unsure of what to do.Nolan gently grabbed her hand. His voice broke as he spoke.“Evelyn, please,” he said. “I didn’t plan all this just for attention or drama. I meant every single word. I’m not ashamed of you, and I’m not ashamed to show how much I love you. That’s all I wanted. That’s why I came here tonight. That's why I arranged for all this.”Evelyn turned to him slowly.She looked into his eyes. There was real pain in his eyes.Her eye
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Three Days Later... The courtroom was cold and quiet, filled with a strange tension. Nolan sat beside his lawyer, Barrister Keme, his hands were clenched tightly on his lap. He was dressed in a black suit and tie, and his eyes were dark from sleepless nights. Across the courtroom, Evelyn sat beside Zahir Malikyan. She was dressed like a widow in mourning—wearing a black linen cloth over her head, and large dark shades covering her eyes. Her face was calm, like she had already moved on. Like she had buried the past and didn’t plan to ever dig it up again. Nolan’s chest burned with anger and heartbreak. He tried not to look at her, but his eyes kept going back. He remembered how hard he had fought for her—for Rhys Tech Global. He remembered working day and night, risking everything, cutting off friends just to build the company from scratch. Just to make sure her dreams and majorly that of her father's didn’t die. And now she was here, fighting to take it all away from him.
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Not knowing how much time had passed by, a low buzzing sound filled Nolan’s ears. His eyes blinked open slowly—heavy, tired, swollen. The first thing he saw was the face of a dead monkey. Its skin was peeling, eyes gone, and its teeth stuck out like a horror movie creature. Flies danced all over it. Nolan gasped. The stench hit him hard. He turned his head slowly. Pain shot through his neck. All around him, he saw used baby diapers, blood-stained tissue, leftover food, broken bottles, and bags of rotting vegetables. He was inside a trash bin. A big, green trash bin. The kind that stood at the back of restaurants and dirty streets. The walls were high, stained with old grease and dried blood. The heat made the air thick. Maggots crawled everywhere. His body screamed to move. To get out. But nothing moved. His hands were heavy. His arms felt like they were chained down. When he tried to raise his head, pain exploded in his skull. One of his eyes was swollen shut. The
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Nolan’s eyelids fluttered.His head felt heavy… as if he had been asleep for a hundred years.He groaned softly, blinking as a strange white light stung his eyes.He expected to see broken bricks… dirt… or even the cold, stinking walls of that trash bin where he last remembered being.But when his vision cleared, Nolan found himself staring at a clean white ceiling.It wasn’t just any ceiling—it had smooth panels, with soft lights that glowed gently. It almost felt like morning sunlight was trapped inside them.He blinked again, confused.The air was fresh—too fresh.A soft hum came from one of the machines in the corner. The sheets around him were white, and warm. He wasn’t lying on the floor anymore, but on a soft hospital bed with smooth pillows under his head.He turned his head slightly.There were no syringes, no smell of disinfectant, no nurses or doctors rushing around.Instead, the place was quiet. Peaceful. Calm.But something didn’t feel right.His body stiffened.This di
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A KINGDOM ON SHAKY GROUND
Suddenly, the heavy doors of the boardroom swung open again.A new figure walked in—Dan Strauss, the second son of Timothy Strauss. He moved with a strong, confident air, his steps were slow but firm, as if he owned the ground he walked on. His black suit was crisp and sharp, and he carried himself with an arrogance that was hard to ignore.Behind him was his personal assistant, a slim man with quick eyes, holding a leather folder tight to his chest.A quiet tension filled the room the moment Dan appeared. Conversations died down. Heads turned. It was clear—Dan was someone to be reckoned with, someone who might just be the next CEO of Timo Fintech Enterprise if things didn't go Merrick’s way.Dan didn't even glance at Merrick as he walked toward the table. He pulled out a chair about three seats away from his older brother and sat down smoothly, placing his hands lightly on the table.As Dan settled in, his sharp eyes swept the room—and landed on Nolan.He stared.For a moment, he s
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The silence after Nolan’s outburst hung heavy in the air.Then, without a word, the fashionistas moved again. No one looked offended or shocked anymore. They had expected resistance.One of the assistants walked forward and gently lifted the assistant Nolan had pushed down. The man nodded calmly, dusting himself as if nothing had happened.Jean-Maurice raised one hand, giving a small signal.From behind the line of fashion experts, a young man in black gloves rolled a wheelchair into the room.It was sleek—dark leather with chrome linings and smooth tires that didn’t make a sound.Jean-Maurice turned to Nolan and said gently, “It’s time to move, Mr. Nolan.”Nolan didn’t move at first. He stared at the wheelchair as if it were something out of a dream—or a trap.Then two of the assistants stepped forward again. This time, Nolan didn’t fight.He allowed them to guide him. One of them held his arm gently while the other supported his back. Even though his body ached, they moved with su
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Nolan sat up slowly on the hospital bed, wincing at the pull of pain in his side.In his hand was a small mirror. He raised it to his face.What stared back at him was the grotesque shape of his battered face.His skin was covered with brownish iodine stains. Cotton wool pads pressed gently against bruised cheekbones, held in place by white plasters. A long cut across his forehead had been stitched. One of his eyes was swollen. His lips, cracked and dry. His face… it looked like a map of pain.He looked at himself in silence, his eyes slowly filling with something deeper than pain—shame… anger… and loss.A soft knock came at the door, followed by a gentle push.A tall man in a white coat stepped in. It was Dr. Emerson—the physician in charge of his care all this while.“Mr. Rhys,” the doctor said gently. “I won’t lie to you. The injuries to your face were severe. But tomorrow, we’re going to do something about it. A cosmetic surgery. You need it… not just for how you look, but to hel
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Nolan didn’t speak right away.He turned his face slightly, avoiding Mr. Strauss’s eyes.Then, quietly, he asked, “Why… why do you want to know me? Is it that necessary?”Mr. Strauss leaned in a little closer, his voice was calm and sincere. “Come on, Nolan. Is there anything wrong with knowing the man who just saved my company from going bankrupt?”There was a long silence.Then Nolan sighed—a deep, tired sigh.“My name is Nolan Rhys,” he said slowly. “That is all.”Mr. Strauss raised his eyebrows. “That is all?”He looked truly surprised.Something in Nolan’s voice, something in his eyes… it made it clear that there was more. A secret. A truth Nolan didn’t want to share.Strauss tilted his head, studying him carefully.“Nolan,” he began again, his voice was a bit softer now. “I noticed the belt. That Hermès Mini Athena Belt. That’s no cheap item.”He paused.“And the way you spoke. The way you handled the system. You weren’t fumbling. You knew what you were doing. Like someone who’
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Nolan nodded.“Yes. It’s risky. It might not work. But… it might buy us time. It might give us one more chance.”Strauss took a step closer.His expression changed.From calm…To curious.To hopeful.He looked Nolan straight in the eye.“We’re being drained again! There is another breach on Wallet Node C!”Gasps filled the air.A flurry of keystrokes followed. The screens lit up with red alerts. One of the analysts shoved his chair back and sprinted to another console.“They’ve bypassed the second firewall!”“No, no, no! How is that even possible?!”“We need to shut it all down! Now! Before they drain the reserve pool too!”Timothy Strauss’s calm cracked ever so slightly—his jaw tightened. But he didn’t move.Nolan gripped the flash drive tighter. Every instinct in him screamed run. Hide. Protect what's yours. He had fought too hard, suffered too long. That flash drive held his redemption.But then his eyes fell on the youngest techie—barely out of college maybe—who had frozen at his
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Inside the room, chaos continued.The six men at the laptops were now speaking over each other.“We should freeze all trading pairs until we stabilize the token!” one man shouted.“No! That’ll make things worse. People will panic more if they can’t withdraw!”“We need to contact the cold wallet custodian. Tell him to move everything to multisig.”“I already tried—he’s not answering!”“Call Jonah! He knows the fallback code for the vault system!”“I did! His number isn’t going through!”Another man cursed loudly and slammed his palm on the desk. “We’re running out of time! We need help!”One of them picked up his phone and dialed fast. He waited, pacing back and forth.“Come on, answer... please answer,” he muttered.Another man had both hands pressed against his forehead. His eyes were red, his voice weak. “My wife just sent a message. She saw the crash on the news. She’s asking if we’ll be okay…”The pressure was heavy. Too heavy.Everyone was talking, trying, shouting, hoping.But n
